Partners
by Unoriginality
Summary: A visit to his brother reminds Bucky what it means to be someone's partner. (A BTWWL fic)


A/N: When Steve and Bucky call each other 'partners', they're referring to an older definition of the word- the romantic implication didn't show up until the 1950s, to 1960s, well after Steve and Bucky left society for a few decades. Peter uses both definitions, depending on the context. (Yes, Peter shows up again!)

* * *

Driving from Manhattan to Annapolis was a long and frustrating ordeal. Bucky's teeth hurt from clenching them, but he took great pride in the fact that he didn't kill anyone or mangle any part of his and Steve's oh-so-precious car. The car that Steve didn't know Bucky had run off with.

At least he knew that Bucky was gone in the first place. Bucky wasn't that inconsiderate of a partner to not text him.

He pulled over to park by the curb in front of Peter's house. He wanted to visit his little brother and he hadn't wanted to take a cab. He could drive, for the love of god, despite what Steve seemed to think. They had a functional car, why pay for a taxi?

It was cool for early May weather, somewhere in the upper fifties with a quiet breeze coming from the east. He hoped Peter didn't want to sit outside on that porch swing of his. Bucky didn't like cold, or even chill.

Deciding that he'd evaluated the area for threats and weather long enough, he locked up the car and went up to Peter's door and knocked. He knew Peter's schedule enough to know that barring something odd, he'd be home. He'd better be home. Bucky would have to headlock him if he weren't.

Inside, footsteps answered the knock, followed by an 'I'm coming!' when Bucky knocked again, making a point of being annoying about it.

When Peter opened the door, irritation and surprise mingled on his face. "You never learned patience, did you?"

Bucky grinned. "I did. I just learned to be the best big brother and drive all of you insane. You gonna let me in? It's cold out here."

Peter stuck a hand out past Bucky's shoulder. "It's not cold, you big weenie." But he stepped back to let Bucky in and shut the door behind him. "This is an unexpected surprise."

"I am not a big weenie," Bucky argued, shucking his jacket. "I have lots of reasons to dislike cold." He hung his jacket up on the old-fashioned coat rack that Peter got his old-fashioned mitts on somewhere. "And this had better be a surprise. I didn't call ahead and Steve's working."

Peter's eyebrows raised. "Which means you drove the car."

Bucky gave him a dirty look. "So? Don't you start. I am not going to wreck _my_ car. Steve forgets it's not just his."

With a motion to invite Bucky to join him, Peter took a seat in that old recliner that he'd favored befire when Bucky and Steve had visited. Bucky decided to be nice and not sit on the table this time.

"I thought Steve didn't like you driving because you get road rage too easily."

Bucky snorted in a completely rude fashion. "I do not," Bucky said. "I have yet to drive anyone off the road, and I have yet to break any traffic laws. I just hate stupid drivers."

"And is that hate accompanied by yelling?"

"No. Lots of swearing, though."

Peter sat back, crossing his arms over his chest with a look of disbelief that had too much of a smile to really work. "That can't be all he's worried about if all you do is swear. He's used to you doing that."

"Eh." Bucky rolled his eyes, bobbing his head back and forth in a reluctant admission of Peter's statement. "Okay, so I gripped the steering wheel once too hard and left a bigger hand contour than what comes standard. I sometimes forget how strong my artificial arm can be."

Peter tipped his head back, obviously trying - and failing - to hide a smile. "You broke the steering wheel."

"Did not," Bucky protested. "I just bent it a little."

Without dropping his head, Peter gave him a disapproving look that the smile still on his face also ruined. "Are you ever going to grow up?"

"No."

"Good, you're a Barnes man through and through." He sat forward a bit. "So what prompted this trip all the way from downtown Manhattan?"

Bucky shrugged. "I wanted to see you. And I didn't want to bug Tony to drag you to the Tower. Besides, I was getting a bit of cabin fever. I work there, I live there, I needed out."

Peter tilted his head to the side, confusion written on his face. "You work there? I thought you and Steve were freelance contractors."

"We still are," Bucky said, then shrugged. "But we get bored between contracts. Steve works as an advisor for a few government agencies that are searching for Hydra, and I work with Bruce for Stark Industries. I'm back to chemical engineering." He grinned. "You should've seen the looks on Tony and Bruce's faces when they found out I was a chemical engineer. They dragged me into their personal geek squad."

Peter laughed. "I don't think anyone would have the guts to call you a geek to your face," he said. "Tony and Bruce must be special if you let them."

"Special in every meaning of the word," Bucky agreed. "Tony calls us his favorite nerd friends. I keep telling him that one day, he's going to find something hard thrown at his head. He doesn't seem very concerned by that."

"He's Tony Stark, I'm not sure much concerns him."

Bucky didn't answer at first, glancing off to the side, letting that statement drag images and feelings out to translate themselves into words. "You'd be surprised. There's Pepper. And the other Avengers. He's pretty concerned with our well-being." He looked back at Peter. "He's human, just like the rest of us."

Peter, once not the greatest with words without Bucky's counsel, picked up the thought and gave it voice pretty easily. "You've got a good new family, it sounds like."

Bucky looked at him, about to protest, certain he'd heard hurt in that statement. "I haven't forgotten-"

"I know," Peter interrupted. "But I'm not going to be around forever, and you're right, the rest of the family would have trouble getting over being related to a famous person, and I'm pretty sure some of the younger crowd would hold Hydra against you. So you needed a new family to keep your ass out of trouble."

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, guilty. "They don't really keep my ass out of trouble, they help me find more to get into." Before Peter had a chance to even so much as laugh at that, he gave him a worried look. "You're not upset by that?"

Peter shook his head. "No. Like I said, the family's outgrown you. And I know you haven't forgotten me. I just only have so many good years left. You need someone to take care of you once I'm gone."

Not the direction he wanted this visit to take. He stared down at his folded hands, trying to keep his metal index finger from tapping with the anxiety that statement had caused. "Bullshit. You're a Barnes man. You'll never die."

"So how's De Nile, Cleopatra?" Peter asked with a gentle amusement. "I'm not dying any day soon. But I have to plan for it."

Definitely not the direction Bucky wanted this to go. More feelings and images to translate. The words came out in a thick voice. "I just found you."

Peter reached over and put a hand on his flesh arm. "I know. And you still have me. I wasn't trying to bring you down, and yes, I see you're about to cry. Don't."

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, trying to not actually let the reality that Peter was talking about get to him. "You don't get to tell me what to do, you little brat."

"Now I can, you old fart," Peter replied, tone light and easy. He sat back. "Seriously, Bucky, you don't have to worry about that for now. So don't."

His hands betrayed him, that finger starting to tap on his thigh. "Easier said than done, you know. Can we change the subject? I didn't drive all the way here to talk about the impending death of my little brother."

"No doubt," Peter said. "Did you grab anything to eat before leaving? Or on the way?"

Bucky shook his head. "I hate fast food. The modern world has ruined food."

"Not disagreeing with you there," Peter said, then stood. "Come on, lets go see what's in my fridge. We can have gourmet cheese and ham sandwiches."

"Why does everyone think that sandwiches are gourmet? Sam called bologna gourmet. You all have weird definitions of good food." He sniffed the air as he followed. "Besides, I smell a tomato sauce cooking. And you're planning on feeding your favorite big brother sandwiches?"

"Hm? Oh, that." Peter led him into the kitchen and pointed to a slow cooker on the counter that was set to 'low'. "Mom's spaghetti sauce. I was planning on bagging and freezing some for quick meals later. We can have some, if you'd rather."

"It's better than sandwiches," Bucky admitted. "but it'd probably be best if you didn't give me any of that. I'd eat it all."

Peter gave him a cross look. "Bucky, you are almost a hundred years old. You can't claim the 'growing boy' excuse anymore."

God, that spaghetti sauce smelled good. "I can claim the super soldier excuse though," he said. "My metabolism burns about six times faster than a normal person. That's why Steve and I ate so much at Christmas and my birthday."

The look on Peter's face said that he hadn't thought of that, and he stepped over to the slow cooker, lifting the lid and staring at the sauce in it. "Well, I won't have leftovers, but I think I got enough."

Bucky grabbed the lid to the slow cooker from Peter and put it back over the food. "I am not running you out of food."

"You won't," Peter said. "My cupboards are stocked. I just can't figure out how to adjust Mom's recipe to serve just one person, so I freeze the leftovers. If you eat that much, then it'll stretch. It'd be nice to have her sauce without having to have it multiple times a month because I have so much leftover that it crowds my freezer."

That made Bucky feel less guilty about his appetite. "You still haven't figured that out? You're almost ninety years old."

"I also used to cook for two former military men. Just because our metabolism wasn't through the roof doesn't mean we couldn't pack it away."

Bucky turned and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "Tell me about him?"

Peter looked bewildered, like he wasn't sure he'd heard right. "Who, Frank?"

Seriously? Who else would Bucky be talking about? "Yeah, the guy who would've been my brother-in-law if laws had been different."

"There's a lot to tell about him," Peter said. "Food first. Lieutenant's orders."

Bucky's face screwed up into an expression of complete displeasure. "I hate that both of my little brothers outrank me. Steve never lets it go."

Peter dug into a drawer and pulled out a serving spoon, using it to stir the sauce a bit. "I thought Steve was your boyfriend," he said, sounding just like the twelve year old that Bucky still remembered.

"We broke up because we got girlfriends of our own. We decided girls were more interesting."

"Says you," Peter said, setting the serving spoon on a paper towel. He ducked, pulling a pot out of a cupboard by his feet. "You heterosexual men don't know what you're missing out on."

The statement he was about to make was crude, but too funny not to make. "I don't think I'd want something that big shoved in my mouth."

Peter nearly dropped the pot, laughing. "I was wondering when you'd start recognizing me as old enough for dirty jokes." Recovering, he took the pot to the sink and filled it with water, then set it on a burner to be used later for the spaghetti. Then he flashed Bucky an ornery grin. "And there's a lot more to it than that. I'll spare you details."

"Oh god, yes, please. Spare me those details. I will happily remain with them being unknown to me."

Peter leaned against the counter next to the stove, giving Bucky a challenging look. "What, you think it's disgusting?"

"What? No, Pe- Peter," Bucky resisted the urge to sigh, kept speaking instead. "Relax, I don't disapprove, and I'm not _that_ goddamn oblivious. I'm just disturbed that _my baby brother_ has done any of these things. You're still twelve in my brain."

That seemed to relieve Peter. "Better get that one out of your head," Peter said. "Your baby brother's all grown up now."

"Wish I'd been there for that." He tried to not sound depressingly regretful about that.

"You're here for it now," Peter said.

Deciding that he didn't want this conversation to follow back around to Peter's age and declining years left alive, he dug around in Peter's drawers until he found the silverware. Despite Peter asking him more than once what he was looking for and why, Bucky didn't answer until after he'd finally found a spoon and helped himself to a bit of the sauce.

"James Barnes, Mom taught you better than that."

Bucky glared at him. "Don't call me that. And I was sampling to see if you got the recipe right. Which you didn't. You need more oregano, and you forgot the fennel seed."

Peter grabbed the spoon from Bucky's hand, and without any sign of being disturbed by reusing a spoon that had been in Bucky's mouth, he took a sample of his own. He stayed silent a moment, then set the spoon down and dug around in a cupboard overhead. "I hate that you're right."

"When it comes to food, just assume I'm right," Bucky said. "Steve has found it works so much better to do that."

Peter responded with an incoherent grumble, adding a dash of the oregano and a small helping of fennel seed. "There, we'll give it another hour, then we'll eat. Think your metabolism won't make you waste away before it's done?"

"Hardly," Bucky said. "Just because I eat more food doesn't mean I can't go awhile without it."

"I don't always know, with you," Peter said. "Come on, let's let the food cook and go get comfortable again."

Bucky followed his brother back out to the living room. "There's a lot I don't always know with you too, you know."

Peter settled into his chair with a groan, not quite pained, but it sounded like 'up' and 'down' were not the easiest of directions for him to go. Bucky's stomach twisted into a knot. "I know." He didn't say more until Bucky had taken a seat on the couch next to him. "We talked about this on Christmas Eve." He smiled. "That's what visits and phone calls are for."

"Why do you think I'm here?" Bucky asked. He looked over at the pictures propped up on the waist-high bookcase full of photographs. Just as before, pictures of the family from their childhood and a few other pictures of the second generation of Barnes children were there, but the one that drew his attention the most was the one in the middle, of Peter with Frank.

"Which one's catching your eye?" Peter asked, and Bucky could just see him out of his peripheral vision, hands folded on his lap and a knowing smile on his face.

"You and Frank." Bucky looked away from the picture to study his brother, far older than Bucky remembered him, but still so obviously the young man in that picture. "Tell me about him?"

Peter let out a deep sigh, looking over at the picture. "I guess you did ask about him in the kitchen, didn't you?"

The question dodging made Bucky feel a bit uncomfortable. Had he asked too hard of a question? He'd never had a long-term relationship. Maria was his first shot at it, so he had no idea how it was affecting his brother to be asked about his spouse of several decades who was no longer there. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

One corner of Peter's lips quirked up into a smile. "I never said that," he said. "I just don't get asked about him much anymore. Sometimes his brother and I will talk about the old days when he and his wife visit, but the younger generations on both sides never really knew him, so he was just 'Uncle Peter's special friend.'"

"And now he's got a brother-in-law that would like to know more about him. Did he treat you right?"

"Oh, he did. That man would've dragged down a star for me if I asked." Peter smiled. "I still miss him like crazy. He had a smile that lit up the room. It was hard not to be happy around it, even when I was upset." He got up, and Bucky remained silent while he walked to the bookcase. He grabbed an album without looking through it, one in white with silver brocade on the spine, and brought it back over to Bucky. He opened it and set it on the table.

The book seemed to hold nothing but pictures of Frank, some with Peter, some on his own. The first picture was of Frank in his white Navy uniform, posed in at-ease in front of a cruiser that didn't have a name visible in the phot. "I got my hands on this in a terribly dishonest way," Peter said. "He asked for that picture to be taken under the premise of wanting to send it home to his family. He'd actually gotten it done for me. He was enlisted, I was an officer, getting a picture of the two of us together in uniform wasn't likely to happen." He pointed to the picture below it. "That was the one of me. We kept each others' photos for awhile until we both got our discharges."

Tucked into a sleeve in the album cover was a few small envelopes that looked old. Bucky almost took one out, realized that was probably an invasion of privacy, so he asked instead. "What're those?"

The smile on Peter's face shone the way Bucky remembered his parents smiling at each other when he was a young boy. Peter pulled them out, looking at them. "Love letters from Frank. He had a flourish with the written word. He was the one that asked me out first, so to speak, when we were on shore leave. After that, he'd write these letters to me, had them sent out to a nurse in a MASH unit just off the shore we patrolled, and she'd send them back to me, make it look like I was carrying on an affair with a pretty lady in Korea. I got a helluva reputation as a ladies man, just like my big brother." He grinned at Bucky. "So your lessons weren't lost on me. I just happened to be receiving letters from a guy instead of a girl."

"Good man," Bucky said. He tilted his head forward, trying to see the address on the top envelope that Peter was holding. "Mind if I see? Or is that too private?" He hoped they weren't. Peter's aged appearance had ceased being too weird, but reconciling the years in between that had turned him into an adult was still a work in progress in Bucky's brain. He wanted to see more of those years he'd missed.

But something as personal as a love letter wasn't something he was going to push about if Peter said no.

Peter didn't say either yes or no, not at first, setting down the stack of envelopes save one, looking at it like an old friend that he hadn't seen in awhile. Bucky waited patiently while Peter pulled the letter out of the envelope, gaze flicking across the page, eyes getting wet. Finally, he took in deep breath, then handed the letter over. "It's one of the innocent ones, I promise."

"I should hope so," Bucky said, carefully taking the letter. "I don't need to know you're _that_ much of an adult."

 _My dearest,_

 _It seems as if it has been an eternity since we last met, but time has made a fool of me. Not enough time has passed for us to be reunited. I've started counting days on my calendar, and they never pass by quickly enough. How cruel it is that while we are apart, time goes slow, but when we are together, it flies away with no concern of our happiness or impending separation._

 _But only two weeks remain before we can reunite. Two long weeks, but to see you again would make up for all the time in the world._

 _Until then, the air I breathe is heavy with loneliness, and my heart beats as if missing a part of itself. You are my soulmate, a thing long sought but rarely found. I love you, I give to you my life, my air, for that is what you already are to me._

 _With undying love,_

 _-F_

While Peter had given him permission to read the letter, he felt uncomfortable, like he'd spied on something that didn't belong to him. But a glance at Peter, at the wistful smile as he watched the letter being read, made Bucky feel a bit better about it. He handed the letter back with a care as if it were the most important document he'd ever held. "He certainly had a cheesy way with words."

Peter laughed, taking the letter back and, taking great care, folded it back into its envelope. "Love letters aren't known for being practical. They're supposed to be a little sappy."

"You were together a long time, if I remember right?"

Peter nodded, tucking the envelopes back into the sleeve of the album. "Fifty-three years. He died back in '04 from a stroke. Happened while we were asleep. As far as the doctor could guess, he hadn't been in any pain when it happened."

It was Peter's turn to be on the verge of tears, and Bucky got up from the couch and perched on the arm of Peter's chair, wrapping his arms around his little brother's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring that up."

While Peter didn't fully return the hug, he did lean into it. "It's okay. It's been awhile since then. It just sometimes feels too quiet here now and again. I'll join him again in awhile."

That statement almost made Bucky wish he believed in God.

"Do you want to talk about something else?"

Peter shook his head, straightening out of Bucky's arms. "No, it's fine. Just because he's gone doesn't mean I want his memory to fade away, too. Nobody's asked me about him. He deserves better than to have to hide in a photo album."

Deciding that his brother would be okay without Bucky hovering right over him, Bucky returned to his spot on the couch. "What'd you two do after you left the Navy?"

"Besides move in together?" Peter said. "He'd been a mechanic in the Navy, so he opened his own business in the field, working on cars and such. I was his accountant. The man was never good with numbers. He would've accidentally committed tax fraud if not for me."

"Was the business successful?"

Peter nodded. "It was, even up through when cars became half-computerized. He kept up with the technology. Surprised some of the younger mechanics we employed when he'd go out in the garage and get his hands dirty."

"What'd the family think of him? He sounded like the kind of person Mom and Dad would approve of." At least, they better have. Bucky would be disappointed in his parents if they'd had a poor opinion of Peter's choice in lovers.

"They liked him. Dad approved of his quick wit. Dad always did like exchanging quips with a fellow smartass. Mom took to him like a mama duck. The second I brought him in for a family meal, Mom was practically stuffing her best food down his throat. You know how she was when she approved of someone."

Did he ever. "Hard to forget." He hesitated, knowing he was potentially about to step on an emotional landmine. "What about his family?"

"Disowned him," Peter said in a tone that said he still held a grudge against people who were probably dead for that. "His brother told their parents to fuck off and kept a good relationship with Frank, and welcomed me as part of his family with open arms. Like I said, he and his wife still come around sometimes. She's getting a bit weak, though. The last time Clint came by, she was staying at home. I don't think she's got much longer, honestly."

His brother's generation was dying off. Bucky shoved that thought aside. It'd already come up once, he didn't need it to a second time. "Think I might get to meet them? They were family."

Peter looked like he hadn't considered that. "I can certainly talk to them about it. As long as you don't say something bad about Frank, you'd probably be just fine in their opinion."

"I don't think I could say anything bad about someone who made my baby brother so happy," Bucky said with a smile tugging at one side of his lips.

"Best big brother I could ask for," Peter said affectionately. He turned his head back in the direction of the kitchen. "Come on, let's go check that sauce."

The two Barnes brothers headed for the kitchen, Peter pausing just long enough to close the photo album for the protection of the pictures and letters. Bucky passed Peter on his way to the slow cooker.

"Bucky, you are not taking another sample."

"The hell I'm not. How else am I supposed to tell it's done?" He ignored his brother's orders, who was watching him with a sort of 'you make me tired all over' expectation.

"Well?"

Bucky considered, trying to recognize their mother's recipe in what was cooking in front of him. It wasn't quite there, but Peter had never been as good at cooking as Bucky was. "Close enough. I'm hungry."

"Close enough?" Peter protested. "Do I go around insulting your cooking?"

Bucky shot him a smug look. "No, because I'm better at it. Now go boil that water, or there won't be any pasta to smother this on."

Peter scowled at him. "I outrank you." Despite that protest, he walked over to his stove and turned on the burner he'd set the pot of water on earlier.

"Neither of us are military anymore, you don't outrank shit."

Peter made a noise that sounded too much like a whine for an eighty-nine year old man to make. "You know, that worked a lot better when it was Frank I was ordering around."

"I do not want to know about your love play, Petey."

Peter pointed a wooden fork that would be used to stir the pasta at Bucky. "I wasn't offering, Jimmy."

Bucky's face curled up into an expression of extreme displeasure that his mother used to tell him all the time to stop making when she'd put mushy peas on his plate. "Don't call me Jimmy."

"Then don't call me Petey."

"You drive a hard bargain, Barnes, but fine. For _now,_ I'll stop calling you Petey."

Peter went right back to the pasta. "And as soon as you do again, your name is Jimmy."

"Just focus on the damn food."

Chatter turned to cooking, tapering off when the food was done and being served. After sitting down at Peter's dining table, Peter finally reinstated conversation, staring at Bucky's plate with a much larger serving than his own, as if he were studying an algebra equation he'd never had the hang of. "You really eat that much?"

Bucky paused with his fork halfway down to the plate. "Yes? Peter, you saw Steve and I at my birthday. And on Christmas Eve. This isn't news to you."

"News, no, still befuddling, yes."

Bucky shrugged, playing with his food a little before twirling a healthy bite of spaghetti onto his fork. "Good. Be confused."

Food took over conversation, barring compliments on the quality- "You did good." "Only because you doctored it." "Take the damn compliment, Peter." -and Bucky once again confused Peter by proving that not only could he eat a second man's portion, he could do it just as fast as Peter ate his single portion.

"My god, Bucky, chew your food. Did you even get a chance to taste that?" Peter demanded.

"I did too." Bucky stood and gathered up their empty plates. "I usually eat slower, but I didn't want you sitting there, waiting on me to finish. Now shut up and come help me clean the kitchen."

Peter snatched the dishes from him. "Guests do not do the cleaning in my house," he said firmly. "Go sit down. I mean it."

Bucky held up his hands in surrender. "Your house, your rules," he said, somewhat reluctantly. While Peter disappeared into the kitchen to clean, Bucky sat back down on the couch and pulled the photo album left on the table over to himself. He started flipping through the pages, watching the young men in the pictures progressively grow older, Christmases and birthdays passing by every few pages.

What he noticed was a lack of a certain set of pictures he was surprised weren't there. "Hey, Peter?" he called into the kitchen.

The sound of the dishwasher closing and starting its cycle answered before Peter showed up in the doorway, drying his hands on a towel. "What?"

Bucky looked up at him. "Didn't you two ever have any sort of ceremony? Like a commitment ceremony?"

A few heartbeats passed wherein Peter didn't react, before leaning back into the kitchen enough to drop the towel on a counter, and then joining Bucky in the living room. "No," he said. "We decided it wouldn't be right to have one when only one set of parents would be there."

At least that was one thing he hadn't missed, but he wasn't going to voice it like that. "His parents were a pair of special pieces of shit, weren't they?"

"They were a pair of foot-fucking, slug-eating cockroaches spread in moldy smegma," Peter said with the same nasty tone he'd used earlier when they'd first come up.

Bucky whistled low. "You're creative. I'm proud of you."

"I'm a sailor. And the only thing those two ever deserved was every creative insult I could come up with."

Before Bucky could reply, the work phone in his back pocket went off, playing a hideous noise that consisted entirely of annoying voices singing 'la la la la la' in a truly awful melody.

"Why is your ass playing the Smurfs theme song?" Peter asked, his eyebrows raised and a jackass smile on his face.

Bucky grabbed the phone. "Tony changed the ringtone again. I'm killing him when I get home." He eyed the caller ID. "Which may be soon. My partner is probably telling me to bring the car home." He clicked answer. "Hi, Steve."

"You took my car."

Bucky looked at Peter. "Told you." Peter snorted, trying to cover a laugh and failing. Bucky turned his attention back to Steve. "Yes, I took _our_ car, and no, there is not so much as a scratch on it. So untwist the underwear from the asshole."

Peter started laughing loudly.

"Tell that traitorous brother of yours that this isn't as funny as he thinks."

Bucky looked over at Peter. "It is, so I'm not telling him that. Is all you called about the car?"

"Partly, yes," Steve said. "There haven't been any calls on that phone, have there?"

Bucky sighed, a frustrated huff of air. "Steve, if there were, I wouldn't be sitting in Peter's living room, I'd be on my way back to Manhattan, if not already there. No, there's not been any calls, just yours. And by the way, Tony changed our ringtone again."

"Again? One day, we will figure out how to get him back for that."

"So we keep saying," Bucky said, picking up that something was odd about the conversation. It wasn't exactly hard to figure out that there hadn't been any work calls if Bucky were still in Annapolis, and Steve wasn't stupid enough to ask that kind of question, not in that tone. "Should we be expecting a call on this phone?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure yet. General Bradley was making some noises at the teleconference about a Hydra base that he didn't want to risk his men over. It could be nothing, he can be overruled by a higher general, but you might want to be here in case we get a call."

Damn. Bucky wasn't ready to go back to New York, but a glance at the clock told him he should leave while the traffic was going to be moderately nicer than it would if he were to leave later. "All right, gimme a few hours to get home. Try to stall in the meantime."

"I will. And don't you dare break another steering wheel."

"That was _once,_ and nothing's happened to that car coming here, and nothing will getting home." He rolled his eyes, looking at his brother for help. Peter offered none.

"Just get home."

"Yes, Captain." Bucky hung up and looked at Peter, bringing him up to speed. "So that's a depressing way to end a visit that I wasn't ready to end."

With a soft smile on his face that only years of practice could perfect, Peter shook his head and picked up the photo album, closing it and placing it on his lap. "I understand. You can call me after Schrödinger Job is done. I'll be here."

Normally, when Peter said that, Bucky always felt a little dread that he'd find that no, Peter wouldn't be there anymore, but now it put him at ease. His brother was going to be there later, they could talk then.

Bucky got up from his spot on the couch and leaned over Peter's chair, giving him a hug. "Stay out of trouble. I got enough for the entire Barnes family, don't you add to it."

"I don't get into trouble anymore," Peter assured him, then patted the photo album. "You don't get into trouble without your partner."

That made Bucky pause, but he pushed aside his internal reaction and straightened. "I'll see you later." He grabbed his jacket and headed out.

Bucky spent the trip back up to NYC focusing on the road, on the traffic that didn't bother him as it normally would, his usual irritation tempered by the odd feeling leftover from Peter's home.

It wasn't until he was back at the Tower, taking the elevator up from the garage to the living floors that he let himself chew on what his mind was trying to say. Somehow, that promise sounded like something Steve or Bucky would say about the other, if one went first. Actually, thinking back, it _was_ something they'd said in the early days of the Howling Commandos.

Their relationship was different than that of Peter and Frank- neither Steve nor Bucky would be caught dead writing love letters, even if they were to have a romantic relationship - but that partnership was the same, a familiar sense of easiness.

There was always the chance of one of them getting killed on a job, but it'd never seemed that real.

Somehow, it felt like Peter's words had changed that.

The elevator dinged at his floor and he pushed away from leaning on the back wall and stepped out. The work phone hadn't gone off once since he left Annapolis; he was hoping that meant that the potential job was a false alarm. He wouldn't be happy about his visit with his brother being cut short over nothing, but right then, he didn't want to get into trouble, with or without Steve.

"For the record," Bucky said upon entering his apartment. Steve looked over from the couch, looking like he'd been passing the time by twiddling his thumbs. Bucky put his jacket away, then dangled the car keys. "Not a scratch." He hung up the keys on the rack.

"It's a Christmas miracle about five months late," Steve said.

"Kiss off." Bucky walked down into the main living area and hovered by the couch, just over Steve's left shoulder. He didn't offer conversation, his brother's words were still haunting him. Don't find trouble without your partner.

If that little voice that liked to stick its nose where it wasn't welcome didn't go away, he'd find a way to forcibly yank it out.. A potential job always put Bucky's nerves on edge, he didn't need feelings that he'd already thought through and _thought_ he'd dismissed trying to upset him.

"What's the matter?"

Bucky blinked, staring at Steve, abruptly realizing that his thoughts must've been showing on his face again. "Hm? No, nothing-" He cut himself off with a shrug. "Talking to Peter always makes me a bit off, I guess. You don't need to worry."

Steve didn't seem to buy that. He got up and put his hands on Bucky's shoulders, telling Bucky that he was _really_ easy to read right that second. "What was said this time?" His tone was firm but gentle, not to be deterred from getting an answer, but ready to clean up any mess the answer made.

Bucky's jaw tightened, teeth clenching to keep too much emotion, too much fear and unease, from finding its way into his voice. Eventually, he just gave up and pulled Steve into a hug, like an older brother scooping up a younger sibling to make the fear of thunder go away even though the thunder scared him too. "You are not fucking allowed to find trouble without me. I will find a way to kick your ass if you do."

Steve was caught off guard by the hug, but after a second, he returned it. "You know I won't. Who would protect me if I did?"

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, then stepped back, letting go of Steve, taking deep and even breaths to keep his emotions under control. He liked having emotions, but the fear of losing Steve wasn't one he wanted to deal with. He never did. "Good."

"What brought this up?"

Another deep breath. "Just a long day of memories. That's all."

Steve put a hand on Bucky's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "We're together to the end of the line, remember? We'll both be fine." He glanced over at the clock. "If that job doesn't call in soon, we can make it an early-"

There went the Smurfs theme song again. Bucky vowed to find out what a Smurf was and destroy it. That sound was awful.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and handed it to Steve. Steve held a brief conversation with someone he called a general, so Bucky assumed that this was the potential job Steve had been expecting and not something new and exciting.

"That was the job?" Bucky asked once Steve had hung up.

"That was the job," Steve confirmed. "Suit up. We get to go find that trouble you won't let me find alone."

Bucky offered bland look that was more of a weak smile. "You don't get into trouble without your partner."

Steve grinned, but Bucky only saw it for a second as Steve turned to head back to the bedrooms. "Especially not when you got the best partner around."

Bucky had to agree.

Time to find trouble.


End file.
